is it worth the wait
by WonderTwinC
Summary: The door to his home is open. Another thief, he believes, but he hesitates when he sees a glimpse of a familiar face just beyond the open door.
1. is it worth the wait

This is going to be part of a series, I do hope. There are some .gifs for it over on my tumblr, which is wondertwinc. Also, this was a word prompt fill for 'magic, fire, water & sabotage'.

* * *

_is it worth the wait_

The door to his home is open. Another thief, he believes, but he hesitates when he sees a glimpse of a familiar face just beyond the open door. She doesn't even really look at him.

"Henry told me you'd be here," she states quietly. Her voice carries, however, and it sounds just as it did before all those years ago in the halls of the Dark Castle.

He opens the door a little more, taking a single step inside. "Belle?"

The look on her face is bittersweet as she fingers some of the trinkets sitting in a chair. "Isobel here. Not Belle."

It is only then that she looks up at him and he can see the exhaustion in her eyes. He is too far away to see much, standing just inside the doorway, but Mr. Gold almost believes he can make out the lines of a dozen scars lining her shoulders in a gruesome design. Her hair is a golden blonde, not the same auburn he has grown to dream of. Her eyes, while blue, are darker than before and she does not smile.

He doesn't even shut the door behind himself as he walks into his home, turning the corner instead of going straight. Looking at her hurts, and so he can't. He is only a few steps around the corner when he hears her behind him, her steps quiet in comparison to the constant tapping of his cane.

"You can't just walk away," she states, rounding around some things. He doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate, but there is a flash of another place and another time when she walked away and left him standing in the dungeon.

Somewhere behind him she stops. "Rumpelstiltskin, you will look at me," her voice crackles like fire and he stops.

Names are power and he feels it rush down his spine like a bucket of cold water. It's a shock to the system and his hand grips his cane so hard that his leather gloves protest.

"You're mistaken, dear. I am Mr. Gold-"

Her laugh cuts him off, skitters across his skin like magic and wraps around his heart.

"You are Rumpelstiltskin no matter which world we are in. You are the Dark One," her voice grows quiet for a moment and her next words are barely above a whisper but just as strong as steel, "and you are the man that I love."

Belle, because that is who she is at the core of all things, wields her words as one would a dagger. She stabs directly into the heart of the matter and twists until even their breathing is silent. He _shook_ her. He shook her and screamed at her and threw her out like trash. Rumpelstiltskin forsook her to protect himself and now she is here staring at his back and proclaiming her love as if all of those things didn't happen.

Mr. Gold turns to look at her, just over his shoulder, but it is more than enough. She can see the emotions reflecting in his eyes and she stakes a step forward with her head held so very high and her blue eyes burning.

"And you love me, you selfish, stupid, _ignorant_ man. You love me and even now you're too much of a coward to say it," her words cut and bruise, as she well intends.

Rumpelstiltskin would snarl at the accusation and toss it aside. Mr. Gold grins to show off his teeth and feels a deep ache in his knee. "My dear-"

"I swear to god Rumpelstiltskin if you deny it I will cut your bloody heart out," she snarls and there is something so very vicious about her words. He has a feeling that somewhere in the past those very words were used against her. He wonders if she has scars from it all.

There is a stand-off in the living room of his home and magic thickens the air and it's not entirely his own doing. His beauty has learned a thing or two in her absence and when he pairs it with the hollow shadows that line her face he has no choice but to back down. She could do him in with a single word and she very well knows it.

This time the grin on his face carries no malice, only pain. "Would you like a seat, dear?"

Belle shakes her head as she steps closer, winding her away around the many objects that litter his home. Overflow from the pawnshop, of course, but she doesn't seem to take notice of any of them. She is staring right at him and his eyes can find no purchase other than her face. Her hand is cool against his burning skin and he leans into the touch, exhaling.

"Say it."

This close he can count the differences with ease. Some he noticed before, like her hair and her eyes, but now he can see more than the obvious. He can see the faint pale line running along the right side of her jaw to disappear just behind her ear. There are shadows under her eyes, so soft he barely notices them. He inhales and her hand presses hard to his skin, bringing his eyes back to hers.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

She has scars on her wrist, barely concealed by the bracelet she wears. It looks as though something has dug into her skin over and over until there was really no skin there to be spoken of.

His words come out choked. "If you already know, dearie, then why-"

There is a mirror behind her, propped up against the wall. It catches his eye and in it he sees her reflection, and in her reflection he sees ruin.

"Because love by omission is not love, it is cowardice."

He sees ruin on her back in a map of scars and burns and damage that is so faint in color it's hard to see. There is magic in the wounds, hiding them from sight and he _knows_ it was Regina and she will burn for it.

"Belle-"

"So help me if you don't-"

Her words are swallowed by his lips and she doesn't seem to mind as her hand moves to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck. This is nothing like the kisses he has dreamed of. It is just as soft as their first, but it is so heavy that it threatens to swallow them both.

It ends with a sigh.

Belle is looking at him and the kiss has done nothing to fix this. He has kissed her before and tossed her out like garbage and she believes it could happen again. He believed that loving her in silence was a favor to them both, but he sees better now when his judgment is not clouded by thoughts of sabotage.

She opens her mouth and he shakes his head. It's now or never and losing his resolve at this point in the game is not an option anymore.

"I want to love you, Belle. I want to-"

"_Then love me_."

His cane clatters to the floor as his fingers knot in her hair and their lips collide.

Belle is his only option, and he just has to reach out and take it.


	2. the slamming door

I was going to break these up, but I decided it would be easier for you guys to keep track of it I kept it together like this for now. I wrote this last night while at work and had someone read over it and I've been back over it, so hopefully everything is good.

* * *

_the slamming door_

One moment she is there and in the next she is gone, the door shutting softly behind her.

He is still seated on the couch, of course, replaying the feel of her lips and hands against his own. Gold would doubt she is real, but _she remembers_ and no one else but Regina can claim that. The smile on his face is entirely too human and he does his best to wipe it away with a scowl instead. All he manages is a mangled expression that disappears when he lets out a great sigh.

She is not the Belle he remembers, and yet parts of her are so familiar. Her mind is still sharp, but now she has a tongue to match and much more bite than he can recall. All traces of the merchant princess have been wiped away and now he is left with a warrior wrapped in scars. Still, he loves her, he _wants_ to love her, but first he must get to know her all over again. It is a journey that he looks forward to, but there are things he would like to know now.

First and foremost had been the tale of her life since she walked from the doors of the dungeon. He asked, of course. How could he not? He wouldn't be Rumpelstiltskin if he had just accepted her reappearance, but she had refused to utter a single word. All she would tell him was her place of residence, which just happened to be with Emma and Mary Margaret. He approves, of course, if only because Emma will protect her from Regina more than he currently can. That line of thought brings a surge of anger to the forefront and he closes his eyes.

If he had nightmares before, of Belle jumping from towers and suffering at the hands of clerics, he knows that now he will be tortured himself by the images his mind conjures after having seen the scars. All it accomplishes is the want to cross town and rip the Mayor's head from her pretty little shoulders, but only after he has left not a piece of her skin untouched.

His grin is feral as he stands to make his evening tea.

* * *

"Dinner's on the table," Mary Margaret greets as the door opens, admitting Belle back into her new home. Emma is already seated, shoving food in her mouth as though it will be the last meal she ever gets while pouring over a set of files that rest to her left. A quick glance tells Belle what she has already assumed and she goes on to read her fake name on top of one of the papers. Something from the hospital, most likely, and she dismisses it as she sits down in her chair.

She has only been here for a handful of days and already they have integrated her so completely into their lives. Emma's room is now hers, furniture and all, and the Sheriff now shares a room with Mary Margaret. There is a seat for her at the table, a rose tea mug for her use only, and even a few different outfits put away in the closet. Belle is nothing but grateful for their hospitality, but there are times when she is unable to express such a feeling. The last time she trust someone like this she ended up losing her true love only to be captured and tortured for years and years.

Those thoughts only serve to leave a bitter taste in her mouth and she tries to wash it away with some of the milk beside her plate. Belle eats, listening as Mary Margaret washes the dishes and Emma flips through the pages of her file. It has a nice, homey feel to it and her body relaxes as she devours the delicious steak meal she knows was cooked by the school teacher. She is closing in on her last bite when the woman to her right makes the strangest sound after her bite of dessert.

Her fork pauses on its way to her mouth as she instead turns to look at Emma in curiosity. The blonde is staring very intently at one of the slips of paper, clutching it tight. Behind her, Mary Margaret is staring at the back of the Sheriff's head in concern. Not a word is said, however, until Emma raises her head to stare at Belle. "Moe French, your father-"

Despite herself, she flinches. His name rubs at her wounds, burning and reopening the ones that can't easily be seen with the naked eye. She hasn't thought of him since her great escape, but she has seen him, once. Belle has taken extra precautions to make sure that it never happens again. Still, his name hits like a bullet to the chest and she trembles so hard that her fork clatters against the plate. It falls, from her hand to the table, and she makes no move to reclaim it. "He's not my father," she whispers in a voice that is very thick with emotion. In turn, it only serves to enforce her accent and she sounds so much like she did once upon a time that is almost startles her.

_She has changed._

The notion is so very tangible at that moment, but the clarity is shattered when she realizes just how hard both women are staring at her. She is not yet ready to share her story and her legs barely hold her weight when she stands. Belle turns to Mary Margaret and thanks her quietly for dinner before she whispers goodnight to them both.

Emma watches her go, waiting until she hears her old bedroom door click shut before she turns to Mary Margaret. They share a silent moment of communication before the teacher puts down her dishtowel and takes up the seat directly across from the other woman. Belle does not hide her scars, she well knows. Instead she wears them on her sleeve and hides her heart so very deep it can be hard to reach. The last five days have proven as such, for their new roommate can be as gentle as she can be caustic.

Mary Margaret watches Emma and knows the other woman has found a piece of the great puzzle that is all aimed toward the question of why. She is not disappointed when the Sheriff passes her the single piece of paper. She scans it, picking out different words and medical terms that she does not understand, but then her eyes hit a single sentence that takes her breath away.

_Patient was taken into custody after an argument with her father lead to him beating her with his belt._

It seems nothing like the Moe French that she knows, and for a moment Mary Margaret doubts the integrity of the document, but just remembering Belle's reaction from a moment before makes her frown. It's hard to reconcile the man she knows with someone who would beat his daughter, but something had to have happened. Emma, it seems, is thinking the same thing as she stares down at the file.

"It just doesn't add up," she grumbles, and for once Mary Margaret has to agree. Still, Belle's reaction…

"Something had to have happened, though. Perhaps… perhaps if you give it a few days she'll come to you."

Emma doesn't seem pleased with the idea as she takes back the document from Mary Margaret before closing the file. It is not an option she likes, but right now it's the only one they can take.

They don't realize, though, that even through the heavy wooden door Belle can hear their every word. Her back is to the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her as she stares at the ceiling. She doesn't know what the papers say, about her or what that man did, but she does remember what happened so very clearly. She remembers arriving home after a very long journey just to realize she was not welcome.

She remembers how her father cursed at her for going back on her deal, for _going_ in the first place, and how his hand collided with her face hard enough to bruise. There are other memories, ones of clerics and guards, but none hurt more than that of when her father brought in that dark cloaked witch and sold her as though she was _property_ and not his daughter.

There are many things she will not do, and Belle will not make the mistake of thinking of him as her father ever again. The memories temper her earlier good mood and she does not even make the effort to get off the floor when exhaustion starts to set in.

She has spent twenty-eight years sleeping on a concrete floor and Belle doubts a single night on a wooden one will make much difference.


	3. knock on my door

Another day, another chapter. Written tonight, and not beta-read, so any mistakes are mine.

* * *

_knock on my door_

Storybrooke is… different, cold in a way that the enchanted forest never was, and so very dead.

Belle tries to take in everything as she walks at Emma's side, but that is all she can think as she presses a little closer to the Sheriff. She has been out in the town before, less than a handful of times since her great escape, but always has she been with the other blonde women.

Always, except for the evening she left on her own to climb through a thousand back yards to reach Rumpelstiltskin's door in the fading sun light. She has not been back to see him in the three days since their first encounter, and he has not come to her either. She fears he won't, but she keeps the thought to herself as they round the corner toward the diner. There are many faces she does not recognize in this place, but sometimes a person sticks out.

So far she hasn't recognized anyone today, but then they step into the diner and there sitting in the far corner is the man who she knows better than herself. He doesn't look up at small trill of the bell when the door opens, and when Emma veers to head toward the counter Belle hangs a left and leaves her friend behind. A few of the patrons stare, but thankfully the place is mostly empty as she winds around tables until she is standing at his side.

Emma has just noticed her absence, and when she hears her name called across the room in confusion her presence is announced. Rumpelstiltskin looks up and his brown eyes catch hers and Belle looks back at him from just a few short feet away. The paper in his hand is lowered to the table and he smiles in return, a quick twist of his lips, before the expression falls away. "Good evening," he offers in his quiet burr, and she tilts her head in acknowledgement. His eyes flash, amusement showing in their depths, before their conversation is interrupted.

"Gold," Emma barks out his name, sharp and uninviting. Belle doesn't turn to look at her friend, but she sees how he looks at the sheriff a moment before offering her a slight nod.

"Good evening, Sheriff Swan."

A hand closes around her shoulder, gentle and questioning, and she turns to catch Emma's eye over her shoulder. There is distrust in the eyes looking back at her, but Belle knows the other woman means well. She makes sure her gaze is steady and sure as she gives the sheriff a quick upward turn of her lips as a soothing gesture. "Can you order me some of those pancakes you had the other night?" Her intentions are clear, and even though there is hesitation, the hand on her shoulder falls away and they are left to themselves once more.

"Pancakes, dearie?"

Shaking her head, Belle looks back at Gold and shrugs. "It got her to leave, did it not?"

He makes a face at that, a disgruntled sort of look, and Belle would laugh if she remembered how. Instead she reaches out and brushes her hand over his shoulder, smoothing at invisible wrinkles. "You can come see me, you know."

Gold does not pull away from her touch, but he is tense under her fingers, acting though they hadn't spent the greater part of the evening with their lips locked just a mere three days ago. Belle sighs, but she grips his shoulder before pulling away. "Really, I thought we had an agreement, but I suppose…"

She steps away and moves to turn, putting an effect end to the moment. His eyes watch her every move and when she is only a few steps away she stops, glancing at him over her shoulder. "If you want this you have to come to me."

And then she is gone across the diner, jeans hugging her backside in a way that should be utterly sinful. Still, he can't take his eyes off of her, even when she meets up with Emma and the two promptly leave with a goodbye to Ruby and her grandmother. His eyes even watch when they step out into the sun, the light catching in her blonde curls before she is gone out of sight.

"So spill," Emma approaches the topic with as much subtly as she has, looking over at her new roommate when they finally take their seats in the station. She is at her desk, and Belle is sitting across from her and their lunch has been spread out on the cleared space.

A forkful of pancake halts halfway to its destination, and then she is staring into dark blue eyes. "Whatever are you talking about?"

The sheriff's fork stabs into her coleslaw as she takes a bite, speaking around a semi-full mouth. "You and Gold, and whatever that-" she waves her fork in the air, swallows, and then fixes a very intense look on the other woman, "was."

"Emma-"

"Don't even think you're getting off the hook, Iz. Seriously, he was _looking_ at you."

Belle stares at Emma, her fork still held in mid-air as she tries to wrap her head around the idea. "So? You're looking at me, Sheriff."

She is rewarded with a rolling of the eyes, promptly followed by another forkful of coleslaw. "I mean he was really _looking_ at you, you know, checking you out. Pretty sure he was staring at your ass when we left."

Something about the way Emma says it, perhaps how crude and straight forward the observation is, makes Belle duck her head so that the other woman cannot see the slight flush that rises in her cheeks. "He was not," she huffs out quietly, finally bringing her fork to her lips so that she can eat the semi-cold bite of pancake she had almost forgotten about.

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say," Emma replies after a moment, finishing her coleslaw before she starts on her burger. Across the table Belle takes another bite of her pancake, but the flush in her cheeks does not leave.

"I'll get it!"

Mary Margaret puts down the papers she is grading, rising from her seat at the table as she goes to answer the door. Emma is looking over Isobel's files again on the couch, while the girl herself is making them tea. The room is filled with humming and the crackling of pages turning, but it all abruptly stops when she opens the door and lets out a quiet sound of surprise.

"Miss Blanchard," the voice is cool and smooth and it makes Emma sit up in an instant from her position on the couch. He smiles, tipping his head in her direction as Mary Margaret steps out of his way to let him inside. "Sheriff Swan-"

"What're you doing here, Gold?" Emma is not at all inviting as she starts to get up from the table, but then the door closes behind him and from the corner of his eye he catches a quick glimpse of her black shirt. It is the same one she was wearing earlier at the diner, but she doesn't approach him. She's letting him stand on his own two feet against the savior and all he can do is smile when Emma quickly fills his vision. Her hands are on her hips, one occupied with a file, but the look on her face is so very… _stubborn_.

Gold would chuckle, but he knows the sound would not be appreciated. Instead, he inclines his head toward Belle, watching as Emma's eyes narrow in the slightest. "I came to see Miss French," he whispers and even though his eyes are not trained on her he knows something happens when the name leaves his mouth. Mary Margaret flinches, and the Sheriff quickly glances over toward their Isobel before she looks back at him.

"Look Gold, you're not-"

"It's alright, Emma," Belle whispers the words, still reeling from being called Miss French, but she steps away from the counter with a cup of tea held tightly in her hands. Emma's posture relaxes, but the movement is so minimal. She is still coiled, though, but with a brush of shoulders as the other girl passes her by the tension eases.

"Iz-"

"There's tea for you both. I'll just be outside," and neither woman argues as Belle steps past Gold and out the door. He is only a moment behind, pausing to nod at both Emma and Mary Margaret before he slips out the door behind her. It closes quietly, leaving a slightly confused duo on the other side. The school teacher turns, looking at her best friend with confusion in her eyes. "Do you- I mean- what was that?"

Emma waits, staring at the door, but then she sighs and shakes her head. She drops the file on the edge of the table as she moves around the counter to get her tea. "Don't ask, because I don't know."

Mary Margaret pauses, still confused, but the smell of tea is alluring and she abandons her spot to join Emma at the counter.

There is a bench just outside of the apartment, one in which they take advantage of. Belle sits on the far side, tea cup in hand, and Rumpelstiltskin sits at her right a moment later. The night air is cool, but without a wind to join it the edge is lacking. The streets are mostly deserted at this hour and the quiet is only disturbed by the chirping of crickets and the occasional passing car.

"You came," she states after a moment, as though it is nothing more than quiet observation. She takes a sip of the tea, humming in pleasure as the warm liquid slides down the back of her throat. His hands are stacked on top of his cane, gripping the wood loosely as he looks over at her with something akin to tenderness creeping into his features.

He spent the better part of the day weighing his options while taking inventory at his shop. He had almost convinced himself not to come, but the memory of her lips slipping over his and her hand resting on his shoulder had been enough. If she still wants him, if she still wants this between them, then who is he to deny her? "You made it very clear, my dear. It was my move," he replies with a look that is a cross between a smirk and a smile.

It is nothing short of impish, and affection colors her voice when she speaks next. "It took you long enough." She isn't accusing him though, teasing more like, and he laughs in a very quiet way. The sound is beautiful and warm and she chuckles awkwardly. Gold pauses then, staring at her like she is something entirely new.

Of course, though. He is used to her full laughter and here it feels like something she will never do again. She has yet to even _smile_ and if Emma and Mary Margaret think it odd they don't mention it. He doesn't either, though. Instead he reaches over with one hand and plucks her tea cup out of her hands. Belle stares, watching as he brings it to his lips and drinks, making a soft noise of satisfaction low in his throat.

"You always did make the best tea, dear," he offers it as an explanation, when he holds the cup back out in her direction. She takes it, carefully placing her lips where his just left when she takes another taste. It has three sugars and no milk, the same way he took his tea in the dark castle, and the same way she has come to take hers in the years after. If he notices that too, he doesn't say anything on it. They sit there, sharing the bench, taking turns to drink the tea she has fixed until there is nothing left.

He passes the empty tea cup back, their fingers brushing for the final time. It is late, now, the air crisp and biting as the night has carried on, and Belle knows that it is time for her to go back inside. They sit there a moment more, until a cold breeze makes her shiver, and then whatever spell has held them there is broken. Gold stands, his knee protesting the too cool weather with a fierce ache before movement loosens the joints. She watches before doing the same, shifting as she holds her tea cup tight.

There is a hesitation to them, now, but he doesn't stop him from touching her cheek. His hand is warm despite the cool air and she leans into his fingers, turning her eyes up to watch his face. There is a war going on behind his eyes and she knows when it ends because he leans down, tentatively letting his lips press to hers. The kiss is not as desperate as the ones they shared before, something soft and quiet while holding so much intensity.

When he pulls back there is a smile on his face and she turns her head, her lips catching against his rough palm before she pulls away from his warmth. He is forever watching, his eyes never leaving her as she walks to the door and opens it, hesitating only slightly.

"Goodnight, Mr. Gold," she whispers, letting the wind carry her words before she disappears inside the building. The door closes, blocking her from view, and he stands there a moment more before starting the arduous walk back to his home.


	4. locked up

Another chapter in which you guys finally get some information.

* * *

_locked up_

She shuts the door quietly, standing there with one hand pressed to the wood and the other holding tightly to her empty tea cup.

"Have a nice chat?" the voice comes from behind her and Belle startles, turning so fast she drops the cup. It hits the floor hard, but it only rolls to the side instead of shatters. Emma has the decency to look sheepish as she steps out of the shadows, moving away from the couch slowly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," her voice is heavy with her accent that sometimes comes out in her defense, "and it wasn't a date."

Emma smiles as she bends, picking up the cup and holding it carefully when she rises after a moment. "That's an entire two weeks straight, you know, that he's come here and you two have sat out there." She holds out the cup, pausing when she notices a small chip out of the right side. Belle says nothing as she takes the cup, staring intently at the object as she stands there.

She can still taste her magician on her lips and she does not want Emma to ruin the aftertaste of tea and secrets. Belle tries to play it off in a way she failed to so many years ago, clutching at the tea cup so tight her fingers ache. "Oh? I wasn't keeping count."

Blue eyes drop, resting on the chip in the cup, and Emma hesitates in delivering her next line. Instead, she smiles and shrugs, covering a false yawn behind her hand. "You're too easy, Iz. I'll see you in the morning, alright?" She barely even waits for the reflexive goodnight before turning, leaving the younger woman to her thoughts.

Belle watches Emma disappear up the stairs before she moves away from the door. Her first stop is the kitchen sink, and she washes the cup out on auto drive as her mind races back over her conversation with Emma. The sheriff didn't seem upset about her and Rumpelstiltskin, but past scenes keep her from judging. The Queen didn't seem upset either until she had wrapped her fingers around Belle's throat. She reaches up, brushing her own fingers against the smooth skin she finds there, and sighs.

* * *

"You could be my receptionist," Emma offers as she opens the diner door, letting the other woman walk out before she lets go. Belle makes a face at the idea, her nose wrinkling with the act. They spent their lunch discussing jobs for her to take, but she isn't sure she is ready to be away from Emma yet. There is much about this world, this town, she is still learning and being on her own doesn't sound at all effective. This idea, however…

"I didn't think Sheriffs had receptionists," she replies as she falls into step with the other blonde, mulling the idea over. It's appealing in the sense she will be with Emma, but everything else about it screams silent torture by boredom. The woman beside her laughs, nudging their shoulders together and there is almost a ghost of a smile on Belle's face. She turns, fully intent on giving the sheriff her two cents on the matter when ice races up her spine in the form of a voice that has been at the center of her pain for so many years that she can't remember.

"Miss Swan, may I have a word?" The voice is all false sweetness and venom, and Belle feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. She has been waiting for this, dreading it, realizing it would happen sooner or later. The woman was something here, something powerful, and there was no way to avoid her for eternity. Already Emma is turning back to face the Queen and Belle takes a deep breath before she does the same. It is like a physical blow to her chest at the sight of those cherry red lips curved in a smile, but she breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth until the world is no longer spinning.

Everything narrows, and she misses half of what is being said until she hears her name pass from Emma's lips and suddenly it's too loud.

"-obel, she's staying with us, but I assume you already knew that." There is no love lost in the way Emma speaks to the woman, much the same way she is with Gold. Still, something in Belle is dying and she needs to get away. She needs to _move_, because she feels like she is falling. Her feet shift, moving back, but she bumps lightly into a chest. Fear grips her, but it is released when a familiar hand wraps around her wrist, gentle in a way she knows from late night conversations on benches and in front of fires.

"Emma," his voice is low, rumbling against her back as he leans around her to smile at the sheriff. "I just came to borrow our friend, if that is alright with you?"

Emma looks at him, knowing she won't say no because it's not her choice to begin with, but still there is something in his eyes. He is looking at her, but all of his focus is on Regina while he never steps away from Isobel. A handful of warning lights go off in her head, but she nods, giving her friend a smile. "Sure, go ahead."

He nods, his hand sliding down to press into Belle's before he steps back. She follows him, holding tight as they head in the opposite direction, her side pressing into his arm until she no longer feels the Queen's eyes on her back. Her magician pulls her in close, veering off the main road and heading down until she can see trees and a small path. "Her head will be yours, dearie."

He is Rumpelstiltskin in this moment, all imp and no man, but that is who she needs. "I would like that," she replies after a moment, not even looking away from the trees. It's almost as if they are talking about the weather, but there is so much they are not saying. This is her first real confirmation that Regina is their enemy and he holds it close, putting it in the box with the memory of her marred skin and stolen time.

And for a while they just enjoy the brisk air and the scenery surrounding them. Belle has only glanced at the woods from town and back yards, but now to see them up close is interesting. It is a sad mockery of the Enchanted Forest, but still the air is filled with the smell of trees and damp earth and so many other things. It's almost easy to just believe there is nothing wrong in the world. That they are two people taking a walk and a chance to better enjoy each other's company, but her spine still feels cold from the Queen's presence and it does not fade no matter how many steps they take.

Somewhere along the way they leave the path and slide into the woods, completely surrounded by everything she loved as a child. They make it to a fallen tree before she asks to stop for a rest, more for his leg than her own needs. He sits first, stretching out his legs as she sits beside him with no space between their bodies. "Will you tell me the story?" he asks after they are both settled. He has asked, the first night she came back to him, and then she denied him.

Today she is too drained, too raw to tell. The woman has brought everything so close to the surface that she is fighting to keep herself afloat. "Another time," she whispers and he doesn't argue. He is trying so very hard to stay at her side and she sighs, reaching out to slide her arm under his until it presses to his side. Gold looks at her then, really looks at her, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

"You have me already, Rumpelstiltskin, there's no need to try so hard."

He does not relax, but her man leans down to press his lips against her hair and while everything is not alright, it is better, and together they re-learn each other in the silence.

* * *

"Twice is one day, that's a surprise."

Gold chuckles, watching as Emma gets up from her desk to come out and meet him. She looks for Belle, frowning when she doesn't see the other woman. He clears his throat, watching her carefully. "Isobel decided she was tired. I escorted her back to your apartment. Miss Blanchard was there, of course."

The sheriff relaxes then, leaning back against one of the desks in the room, crossing her arms over her chest. She stares at him, trying to size him up, sorting through the hundreds of questions she wants to ask, searching for the right one. He waits, his hands resting on top of his cane as he stands before her, unflinching. She has to make the first move for this to work, and he doesn't doubt that she will. Emma is far too curious to wait him out and he is rewarded when she sighs.

"What do you want, Gold?"

Not quite what he was expecting, but good enough. He smiles, one that doesn't reach his eyes but shows some teeth. She isn't afraid of him, of course, she never has been. This is his way of showing his hand without showing himself. He is showing Emma the dragon without the scales. "How did you find her?"

"Gold-"

"Please, Miss Swan. I have to know," his voice doesn't waver, but there is a flicker of something in his eyes. It's gone before she can give it a name, but it was there and she closes her eyes. Emma cannot believe she is doing this, she shouldn't be doing this, but she knows she will. There are no way in seven hells she trusts Gold, but Isobel… Isobel does so much more than trust this man and maybe she needs to as well.

"I can't believe I'm going to do this." The words come out, followed by a groan as she rubs her face with her hands. Gold doesn't speak, and when she opens her eyes he is in the exact same position as before. The desk is digging in to her lower back, biting at the skin it finds, and she pushes herself up to sit on the edge. Amusement colors his face as he raises an eyebrow and she gives him a stern look. "Hey, I'm the sheriff. I can sit on the damn desk if I like."

"I never said a word," he offers and she glares for a moment more before she relaxes, gripping the desk with both hands as she stares at him.

"She was in the basement of the hospital. There was a fire evacuation and I was there, helping. I was in the process of making sure everyone was out when I noticed this exit door halfway propped open, except it wasn't an exit. I just had a feeling that I _needed_ to go down there and look, and when I did there was a desk and a phone, as if there was a receptionist in the damn basement," and then she pauses to take a deep breath, letting her eyes fall toward the floor. He is more than captivated by her story and does not notice her shift while his hands grip so tight on the handle of the cane all she can see is white. "It felt _wrong_, and when I went in deeper… there was this huge door. Meant to keep someone in and not out, and when I looked through this space in the top there she was. She- she was in the corner of the damn room, sitting on this piece of shit cot with nothing in that room but her and-"

"Enough," his voice cracks, but there is so much power behind it that she stops, tearing her gaze away from his hands to his face. Gold is as white as his hands, his upper lip twitching in restrained emotion as he looks away from her. He clears his throat, the sound loud in the wake of the sudden silence. "Enough, Miss Swan," he repeats in much quieter tones.

Emma watches, trying so very hard to read him, and coming up short. He is a contradiction in the way he stands and the way he looks, the shifting of his lips and not a damn thing in his eyes. She stares so hard it makes her head hurt, but in the end she is given what she needs. _You said something about how he hurt her, what happened to her._ "She's the girl."

There is a pause, he becomes so damn stiff, but then he meets her eyes. "She's the girl," he confirms in a low voice. It all makes sense, then. Emma won't call him out on it, not yet, but she sees it and she nods, and he knows. They have reached a silent agreement with a single look and she has to ask. "Gold, did you- what do you think Mr. French did to her, exactly?"

It's what she _doesn't_ say that catches his attention. He has never referred to Belle as Miss French since that first time, and now Emma is refusing to call Moe her father. He has never once felt bad about what he did, and he wonders how the woman in front of him is seeing it now. "He was cruel to her, Sheriff."

She coils, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it has to hurt, but she takes no notice. "Then why didn't you save her?"

He has asked himself this question every day for more years than he remembers, for more years that he cares to count, and still all he has is his hollow words to hide behind. "You can't save someone who you think is dead, Miss Swan." Gold licks his lips then, knowing he needs to go. "I trust I'll be seeing you later, then."

He has barely turned before he hears her feet banging against the desk and then the soft sound of impact as they land on the floor. He pauses, his back to the savior, but he words are as clear as day. "If you so much as hurt a single hair on her head, Gold, you'll regret every second of it. The gun's not for show."

Rumpelstiltskin feels his throat tighten, but the words come out around the lump anyways. "If I hurt her, Sheriff Swan, I'll give you the damn gun myself."


	5. the scars of all I'll ever know

Here you go. I was going to hold onto it, but this is perhaps my favorite chapter, and also the second chapter of this story that was finished, so here you go.

* * *

_the scars of all I'll ever know_

There are hands on her arms – _she is being shaken so very hard –_ and someone is calling her name. She is caught between the weight of the sheets – _the manacles are cutting into her skin as they hold her down_ – and breathing burns –_ water suffocates her slowly. _

"_Belle_-" The name crashes through her vision – _but it's not her name – _and she jerks awake to the sight of a blonde haired woman _– she always has black hair, hair that is black as night. _There is a scream – _it echoes around the stone cage. _Isobel is quick to sit up in the bed, wrenching away from Emma – _blades shred her skin to ribbons for her insolence – _as her arms wrap tight around her middle. She closes her eyes, shutting them so tight it hurts – _her shoulders burn from the whips and the flames and her throat is so raw – _and she takes a deep breath that only burns as it goes down.

A hand – _a claw – _presses to her arm – _tears through the skin – _and she lashes out hard enough to send the sheriff reeling backward. Isobel's lungs burn as though each breath is an uphill climb and _it hurts. _Emma, so very helpful, steps forward and the floorboards creak beneath her weight – _the door makes so much noise as it opens and her body screams in pain before they even lay their hands on her – _and Isobel snarls out the words, "_Do not touch me._"

Mary Margaret is at the door behind Emma, pulling her robe tighter around her body as she takes in the scene. Isobel is on the bed, trembling so very hard, but the look in her eyes screams violence. Emma is just in front of her, frozen halfway between reaching for their roommate and pulling back. The scene is all together familiar, because she has spent many nights standing in this doorway watching Isobel sleep with worry, and yet part of it is new, because the woman has never looked at them that way.

"Emma?" Mary's voice is quiet, questioning, but the sheriff doesn't take her eyes away from the woman on the bed. It's as though Emma is dealing with a wounded animal as she holds her hand out, palm up, to show she means no harm. Isobel takes no notice, holding herself so tightly that it must hurt, her head already turned away from them.

Emma barely turns her head, enough so that she can see Mary Margaret out of the corner of her eye. "Grab my cell off the nightstand and call Mr. Gold, alright?" She doesn't look sure, even as she issues the instructions, but the school teacher knows where the other woman is going with them. In the few months that Isobel has been here she has only been to see one other person in town and that has been the pawnbroker.

There is a moment in which she hesitates, just long enough for the girl on the bed to release a strangled noise that sounds so anguished, and then she is out of the room and back down the hall to the room she is now sharing with Emma. She grabs the other woman's cellphone and looks until she finds the number she needs, dialing it as quickly as possible.

Time seems to slow down as the phone rings loud in her ear.

* * *

It is 4:30 am.

It is 4:30 am on a Saturday and his phone is blaring loudly in his otherwise quiet room. His hand snakes out from under the covers, grabbing the offending object so hard it hurts. He flicks it open, not even bothering to see who is calling before he answers in a voice roughened by sleep, "This bloody well-"

"M-Mr. Gold?" The voice is timid, but so damn familiar and he wants to growl into the phone. As is, he barely manages to make his voice sound civil as he glances at the clock. "Miss Blanchard-"

There is a sharp intake of breath, and he pauses, just long enough for the woman on the other end of the line to jump in. "It's Isobel," and the teacher sounds so distraught that is pulls at him and Gold is up before he even realizes it. The phone is still pressed hard to his ear as he slips his feet into his loafers, reaching for the robe he keeps near his bed just in case.

"Where is she?" his voice is rough and cutting, the worry hiding under the layers of bite he shrouds himself in.

Civility has gone out the window as he grabs his cane and starts out of his room and down the stairs. His knee _aches_ so very much, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but _Belle_ and he has to get to her now. He is about to snap at Miss Blanchard because he asked a question and she has yet to answer, but he hears her voice just as he starts to open his mouth. "She's here."

That's all he needs to know. Gold hangs up on Mary Margaret, dropping the phone into the front of his robe as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. His keys and wallet are near the door and he grabs them from the table before disappearing out of his front door.

It is 4:30am when he wakes up, and it is 4:40am when he reaches the front door of the apartment that is rented by Snow White and her darling daughter. It is Mary Margaret that answers his loud knocking, pulling her own robe tighter to her body as she moves to let him in. She doesn't stare despite his attire; instead she shuts the door behind him and quietly heads down the hallway.

Halfway there he can hear quiet voices, or really, he can hear a quiet voice. It is at once so familiar and yet the tone is so different than any he has heard before. It breaks his heart into a thousand pieces as he reaches the open door. There Gold finds his heart, sitting on the bed in a set of pajamas that had to have come from the Sheriff herself.

Emma hears him, he can tell by the way she cocks her head, but she doesn't move otherwise. She is a woman bent on helping people, but this time she must sit out. He takes a deep breath, grips his cane tightly, and then he crosses the threshold into the room. He passes Emma without a word, a glance, a single bit of acknowledgement, but she doesn't seem to mind. She leaves once he by passes her, but is hesitant in doing so.

The door closes, the soft click loud in the silence, but Belle doesn't even notice. She is sitting in the middle of her bed, one arm clutching her stomach so hard that in the faint light of the moon he can see just how white her knuckles are against the grey of the wife beater she's wearing. Her right hand is tangled lightly in her blonde hair, cradling the side of her head as her elbow rests on her knee.

Her scars seem to glow in the moonlight and he picks out every one as he closes the distance between himself and the bed. His knee is burning like hellfire as he takes that last step, the one that puts him close enough to touch. Gold doesn't, however. Instead he takes his time sitting on the edge of the bed, his back facing her as he stretches his legs out in front of him. He can feel her heat against his back, warming him better than any fire or whiskey.

Neither move, soaking up each other's presence without needing a single word. It is a call back to their times in the Dark Castle when nights were spent with a warm fire and a good book and the constant sound of a spinning wheel. The bed shifts behind him and then he feels her arm pressing against his back as she leans into his body. Her weight is welcome and he closes his eyes, relaxing for her.

"I have something you want," she whispers in a voice that is utterly hollow. Rumpelstiltskin knows that his Belle is talking about her scars. The ones that shade her back and color her wrists, perhaps even the ones that he cannot see beneath her clothing and yet he knows they are there as sure as the sun must set. He makes a small humming sound in the back of his throat, fingers clutching his cane hard. She shifts, moving so that her cheek comes to rest against the back of his head.

"A deal, dear?" the words almost catch in his throat, and he sounds so much more imp than man, but he feels her body sag into his at the familiarity. Deals are something concrete, a give and take. Something they both understand so well. Her cheek brushes against his hair when she speaks, "Yours for mine," she offers.

He clears his throat and she moves, just a fraction, enough for him to turn on the bed so that his legs are stretched out on the mattress and his back rests against the headboard. His fingers reach, brushing her right shoulder, touching the edge of a faded line etched into her skin. Belle shudders, but then she is relaxing and shifting and moving until she is able to tug her shirt off over her head so that she may be bare for his observation. The expanse of skin revealed to him is beautiful and pale, but beyond that it is marred. She doesn't look at him, her eyes are focused on the wife beater resting in her lap, and he _aches._

There is a story in the marks on her skin of bravery and suffering and _surviving_. They differ in intensity, in size and shape and make, but there is one that winds from the middle of her back until it reaches the tip of her right hip. It ends just before reaching her stomach, the only place that seems relatively undamaged compared to everything else he has seen. He looks, drinking her in, feeling each mutilation fresh as day, until he finds another patch of smooth skin that reaches from her forearms to her shoulders before it gives way to faded welts.

Gold leans until his lips brushing against her skin, touching just beyond her right shoulder in the midst of the damage that rests there. Her only acknowledgement of his touch is a ragged breath as her fingers clench around the bundles of fabric in her hands. He reaches, his fingers finding hers, slipping between the cracks until they are one. He allows his cheek to press to her arm, stubble dragging against the delicate skin found there. Her lips curve in the ghost of a smile that he reciprocates.

They linger like that, his cheek against her arm and his hand cradled between her own until she squeezes. The pressure is gentle and sure, but there is a question beneath the act and he replaces his cheek with a kiss before he shifts up. Belle lets go of his hand and he pulls it away, shrugging out of his robe before he removes the plain white shirt that he wears beneath. His skin almost appears flawless, as it would if he were Rumpelstiltskin, but Belle is diligent in her search and it's not long before her fingers are brushing over a scar that runs diagonally from the tip of his left shoulder to the middle of his back. Her touch is feather light, but curious. It's as though she is asking a thousand questions with the brush of her skin against his and he answers dutifully.

"From the Ogre Wars, a wound I received directly after my leg was damaged."

He feels her fingers tap against another mark, a small scar against his left side.

"Sword fights with sticks, as a child."

In the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Dagger."

It becomes a game. She touches and he answers until they have counted all ten marks within her sight that he bears, whether they are small or large. When the last scar is well and accounted for Belle takes her hand away from his skin and slowly she slips down the pair of sweat pants that she has borrowed from Emma. He sees the smooth expanse of her thigh and follows it with his eyes until he reaches the hem of her plain white underwear. It takes all of restraint to make sure that he doesn't touch. His eyes are mesmerized, however, and it's not until he hears the faint peals of her laughter that his eyes jerk up to meet hers.

She is smiling, something rare and sweet, but it's nothing like her old smiles. It is a phantom at best, the twist of her lips, before it all crumbles and disappears like it was never there. Gold drinks it in though, committing it to memory as he lets his eyes drop down to travel the length of her legs. The first breaks in skin happen at her ankles and match the scarring on her wrists almost perfectly. He doesn't reach down to feel them and instead he brings his eyes up, pausing when he notices a ragged imperfection on the inside of her left thigh.

He stares, trying to make sense of what would make such an injury when Regina's words from a lifetime ago come back to taunt him. _He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. _The damage is from someone skinning her like a fish and _it burns._ Rage, hurt and guilt threaten swallow him whole but her should bumps against his and his vision narrows to her. Gold exhales all of his feelings, and he turns his focus back to her, counting the blemishes he can see from her feet up on both legs.

_Eighteen_. Eighteen different injuries that he will take out of someone else's hide in payment for her pain.

She's staring at him, though, and it's his turn in their game of show and tell. Belle gives him room, but her eyes never leave his face as he goes through the motion of removing the flannel pajama pants he always wears. It takes him a few minutes, but once they are gone he is left sitting beside her in nothing but a pair of black boxers. It's unnerving, to be sure. He is exposed before her, in body and in weakness, and it takes a moment for it all to settle in. She is not his enemy, however, and when her calloused fingers brush against his damaged knee all he can do is bite back groan.

He chances a glance at her face, and she is so damned engrossed in running her hands along his injury that it hurts. Belle is gentle in her touches, leaving the earlier questing fingers behind, but still he answers as he watches her skin come into contact with his. "The aftermath of a trap gone wrong during the wars, it was… when I fled. A village I passed through recognized the clothes I was wearing and called me out for being a deserter and this- this was my price."

She stills, and in the next moment Belle is leaning down and he feels the brush of her breasts against his leg before her lips press against the distorted knot of his knee. Unbidden, his fingers tangle in her blonde curls and her lips twist into a smile against his skin. She stays there for the next few minutes, kissing every inch of skin that is deformed from the top of his knee to the bottom of his thigh. Each trace of her lips against his leg chases away the earlier pain he felt upon his arrival until nothing is left but the warmth that spreads until it reaches his heart.

When Gold thinks he can bear it no longer she pulls away, brushing her lips against his wrist before she returns to her side of the bed. There is silence, then, and the clock he sees on the nightstand informs him that only an hour has passed since he was woken by Mary Margaret's phone call. It is far past time to return to sleep and his thoughts are confirmed when Belle tries in vain to stifle a yawn behind her hand.

"Time for bed, dearie," he whispers with no trace of jest in his voice. He starts to move, reaching for his pants, but her hand wraps around his forearm and he stills. Her blue eyes try desperately to find his own and he complies as he turns his head enough that she can see his face. She looks to be struggling with her words, something he is not accustomed to, and his heart aches all over again. "Belle?"

She starts at her name, squeezing lightly until her fingers dig into his skin, grounding herself in the moment. Belle exhales in the quiet, not quite a sigh but not really a breath, and then her soft voice pours over him. "You will stay with me, Rumpelstiltskin."

It is not a request, nor is it entirely a statement, but there is a demand in there somewhere and he submits. Movement blurs as they move to get comfortable on the bed and he hands her his shirt to wear. Belle pulls it on without hesitation, freeing her hair from the back before she rests on her side away from him. The bed is small, something he is just now noticing as he shifts and moves until he is pressed flush to her back with his right arm tucked around her waist and his left under her head. The rest comes with ease.

Their legs tangle into a jumbled mass of limbs until it is impossible to tell where he ends and she begins. The covers come up next, Belle tugging and pulling until both of them are hidden from the cool air. It is then and only then, that her fingers come down to lace with his as the rest on her stomach. Her other hand seeks out the arm he has under her head and pulls until it's nestled under her neck with their fingers twined to rest above her heart.

It is everything they have waited lifetimes for.


	6. sunday morning

**A/N: **Sorry you guys had to wait. I've had this chapter for a bit, but it was being beta'd and I wanted to hold onto it so I could get started on the next chapter. Mostly because I've been writing to the crossover pairing of Rush (SGU) and Belle (OUAT). Anyways, here you go, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_sunday morning_

It is far too early to be awake on a Sunday morning, but there are dates to be had and she promised David they could meet at the diner for an early breakfast. What Mary Margaret doesn't expect to see as she leaves her room is Mr. Gold all but tiptoeing out of Isobel's room and toward the front door. She wasn't aware that he had stayed the night before, and the sudden realization is enough to make her face heat. He looks so… undignified, trying to sneak out in the infamous robe from the night before on tiptoe despite his cane and she barely manages to cover her mouth before she gives herself away with the quiet laughter that threatens to spill from her lips.

Silently she stands there, watching as he opens the door and starts to exit the apartment. His shoulders relax just as he is almost all of the way out, and she can't resist the urge any longer. Smiling as bright as she can, Mary Margaret raises her hand and waves. "Good morning, Mr. Gold."

His shoulders bunch and he shuts the door without a word, leaving the school teacher to her laughter as she goes about getting ready.

* * *

Emma has her eyes closed, still trying to get in some sleep for once in her life. Her cell hasn't gone off, Ruby is watching the station for the morning, and she has the bed all to herself now that Mary Margaret has snuck out for her meeting with David. She is warm and satisfied, stretched out like a cat in the center of the bed, but even then she can hear the soft footsteps as someone reaches the landing. It doesn't take a genius to know who it is and she rolls over to her side, giving Isobel room to climb in beside her.

The covers shift, and then is a moment when the cool air penetrates her warmth just as Isobel slides into the bed. It only lasts for the span of less than twenty seconds and Emma sighs, making no attempt to open her eyes. "Gold left, I assume?"

The only answer she gets is a cold set of toes pressing to her calf and she jerks, opening her eyes to stare at her frowning roommate. "I'll take that as a yes, then," Emma comments without hesitation, taking a moment to really look at the woman in front of her. She still remembers the handful of hours before, and it seems so does her friend if the look on her face means anything.

"Thank you, for calling him for me," Belle whispers the words, knowing she owes Emma some kind of apology. She lashed out at her, snarled at her, and still the sheriff got her the one person in the world that she needed. She isn't quite sure how she ended up with such good friends, but she is more than grateful. After so much solitude and a never ending pile of lies it feels like a breath of fresh air to have people that she can trust who seem to care so much about her.

Emma shrugs a shoulder, giving a lop-sided grin that is interrupted by an ill-timed yawn. "No problem, that's what friends are for, right?" The sheriff settles back in the bed again, getting comfortable, but when she catches a glimpse of a white shirt she pauses, wide eyes settling on her friend. "Just take the man's shirt, Iz."

Belle looks down, seeing Rumpelstiltskin's shirt clinging to her curves and she can't help but blush. She had entirely forgotten that she was even wearing it, to be honest. Across from her, though, the sheriff is grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She stretches, using both feet this time as she presses her cold toes to the warm skin along Emma's leg. She is rewarded as the other blonde yelps, wrapping herself up in the blankets like a cocoon.

It comes out without her permission, a low laugh that is full of life as she buries her face into Mary Margaret's pillow. Emma rolls onto her side, hiding her smile of triumph as she falls back asleep.

* * *

Going back to sleep is, perhaps, the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. He has his tea and a good book while he sits in the chair by the fireplace, warding off the chill of the morning air after a hot shower. The tea, however, sits forgotten on the table and his book lays open in his lap, discarded. All he has thought about is Belle from the moment he woke up until now, excusing the two minutes of embarrassment he suffered at getting caught by Miss Blanchard as he attempted to leave unnoticed.

An undignified departure, perhaps, but worth every minute he spent in that house. Gold stares down at the book for a long moment before he sighs, picking it up and placing it on the table beside his cold tea. There is no way he will get any reading done today, or much of anything at all if this is any indication of his attention span. He steeples his fingers, studying the fire as he presses his lips to their sides, thinking of the woman he has left on the other side of town. A visit to Regina will be in order within the next few days, he is sure. He has tried to put it off, waiting to show his hand, but after his talk with Emma the day before all he needs is a plan.

Rumpelstiltskin doubts that walking into her office and shooting her in the forehead would be effective, but it doesn't stop him from picturing the scene with all of its details. A bullet, perhaps, for every piece of skin that has been rent to shreds. The idea is enticing, but he has already promised Belle the head of the Queen, something he can't rightfully do if the woman's face is blown in.

After a moment he stands, walking to the fireplace without his cane, putting it out with ease. It may be Sunday, but there is a considerable amount of paperwork waiting for him at the shop and what better way to work off the morning until he can sneak back to see his Belle. He smiles at that, _his Belle_, and hums a very familiar tune learned from the princess of Avonlea.

* * *

"We should invite him over, for dinner or something." Mary Margaret looks over her shoulder as she makes the suggestion, smiling at the way Emma groans. Two weeks have changed her mind when it comes to Gold, but still… she isn't sure if she wants _that_. The school teacher only laughs, shifting on the couch so she can properly watch the other woman fiddle with their microwave. "Come now, Emma. You know she would love it."

And she _does_ know. Emma knows just how much Isobel would love being able to bring Gold in without freeling awkward about it. She spent good portion of the morning watching the other woman sleep, staring at her in the unfamiliar white undershirt knowing that this girl is loved. By Mr. Gold, no doubt, why would it be any other way? Bastard extraordinaire would just have to be the man in love with her new roommate. She groans again just as the sound of quiet footsteps reaches her ears.

"Is something wrong?" Belle asks, looking between a grinning Mary Margaret and a very… unenthused Emma. Of course it's Mary who speaks first, turning to look at Belle while she stands in the hallway attempting to towel dry her mass of curls.

"Emma thought it would be a good idea to invite Mr. Gold over for dinner," she makes the offer with the brightest of smiles and Belle pauses, her eyes going wide. Emma is glaring at Mary Margaret who apparently can't stop smiling and the thought of Rumpelstiltskin in the middle of all this is _priceless. _

She smiles then, nodding her head in approval as she looks over at the glowering sheriff. "How very nice of you to offer, Emma, I'm sure he'd love that." The look she gets is infinitely worse than the one Mary Margaret received, but it makes her laugh so hard that her sides hurt and even though Emma still looks ready to kill, her eyes brighten at the sound. Belle has found the best of friends, no doubt. She needs to get her hair dried, however, and as she goes back into her room she can hear Mary Margaret discussing dinner menus with a grumbling sheriff.

* * *

Miss Blanchard is just _smiling_ at him and it's unnerving. He is waiting for Belle, standing just inside the doorway, and Emma is nowhere to be seen. He shifts, feeling uncharacteristically nervous as the seconds pass and he is so very close to just going outside when he hears the door down the hall open.

"I'm ready, sorry to keep you waiting," she steps out, wearing a pair of jeans that hug her skin and a shirt that looks like it could _be _her skin and if he was nervous before he is positively jumpy now. Belle is smiling, something he only got a glimpse of the night before, and her hair is pulled away from her face in a very small ponytail. She looks amazing and he smiles back at her, forgetting all about Mary Margaret.

"It's no matter, dearie," he replies, feeling accomplished when her skin flushes the most delicate of pinks. She picks up a tea cup from the counter, their tea cup, and then heads his way. Gold holds the door open, waiting until Belle disappears out into the hall before he looks up at Miss Blanchard and nods. "Good night, Miss Blanchard."

She is still smiling when he shuts the door.

* * *

Belle is waiting for him on the bench, holding the tea cup in her hands with a secret smile twisting her lips. He seats himself at her side in their usual ritual and takes the cup when she offers it. Gold studies the cup, holding it carefully as he stares at the chip. "Dropping cups again, dearie?"

The elbow he receives in his side startles him, but she is _blushing_ at him and annoyed. "I'll just take it back, then." Belle reaches for the cup and he pulls it away, bringing it to his lips with a smirk. He drinks, and warmth burns down the back of his throat and apparently that chip wasn't the only surprise the cup held.

"Scotch?" he asks, taking another, smaller taste. Belle nods, watching him drink with amusement in her eyes before she takes the cup from him, always drinking from the same place. It warms him, the intimacy of it, but then he realizes she is speaking and he's missed at least half a dozen words.

"-to dinner this week, most likely Friday."

His brow furrows in confusion as he stares at her, and she turns to see that he apparently didn't listen at all. Belle clears her throat, hiding a grin behind the cup in her hands. "Emma and Mary Margaret have invited you to dinner at the apartment this week. Probably Friday because it's the end of the week and oh, do you have aversions to spaghetti or…?"

He is staring at her, his mouth slightly open, and Belle laughs. She laughs like she did once upon a time while standing on a ladder pulling at curtains and it wraps around his heart in just the same way. Her nose is wrinkled in mirth, her eyes a lighter blue and she is _laughing._ Gold leans over and presses his lips to hers; capturing her laughter in a kiss that mirrors the quiet intensity of their lives, of that first kiss. His lips brush along hers a second time and he feels her fingers brush against his cheek.

When he pulls away she is breathless and he moves until his warm breath ghosts along the shell of her left ear. "You owe me, my dear." Her hand slides up, up, into his hair and she gives a gentle tug, turning her head to kiss his cheek.

"I think something can be… arranged," she whispers the words against his skin, her breath burning his cheek. Gold pulls away, watching as she licks her lips with a smile. She is a _vixen_, but she is his, and he chuckles. She hands him the cup again and they sit there and talk. They talk about the weather and the different people in town, always using their false names, until the air is disturbed by a chilling wind. She shivers at his side and he takes off his suit jacket, draping it over her shoulders and then tugging it closed.

She holds the jacket with one hand, taking a deep breath and smiling when all she can smell is _him._ He smells like the earth, like leather and bits of parchment and _magic._ It's intoxicating and soothing and she decides he is not getting his jacket back. Gold seems to know this already, because when he escorts her to the door he does not ask for it back. Instead, he backs her into the wood, bringing up the hand that is not holding his cane to cup her cheek.

"Tell them I would be delighted." He isn't, she knows, but the fact that he is willing means so very much to her. She's already decided that Emma and Mary Margaret are perhaps the two best people she could live with, but this man in front of her is at the top of the list. He _loves_ her enough to put up with people he normally would not and she knows this is something he does not enjoy. For her, though…

She says thank you, but her eyes say _I love you_ and they share a gentle kiss before she lets herself back into the building. Halfway up the stairs she stops and looks down, remembering the jacket, and she laughs.

Emma will definitely get a kick out of this one.


	7. dinner is served

**First of all, I am sorry that this took so long. I got really stumped with this chapter for no reason at all and then today I just wrote it. So I hope you guys enjoy it and I will try to get the next chapter out ASAP.**

* * *

_dinner is served_

"Stand still, already. You're like a two year old," Belle pulls on his tie, trying to straighten it out while Rumpelstiltskin runs his hands along her sides, trying not to fidget. He shifts, his right hand creeping ever upwards, from the curve of her hip toward her shoulder. She brings her left hand away from the knot in his tie, swatting his hand hard enough that he quickly drops it back to her hip, holding himself as still as possible.

He sighs, fingers curling into the fabric of her blue shirt, bunching it at her waist as he resists the urge to pull her closer. "Is it too late to cancel?"

Belle tugs on his tie one more time, satisfying herself that it is indeed straight, before she runs her hands down his chest, smoothing it out. "It is dinner, not a beheading."

Rumpelstiltskin makes an agitated sound in the back of his throat, shifting as he gives into his urge, dragging Belle closer until their chests brush in the lightest of touches. "The latter would be easier endured, I assure you." Her fingers wrap around the lapels of his shirt, twisting the fabric as she leans into him just enough so that their touch is a constant pressure. His hands flex against her hips, his gaze at once shifting from something light and playful to only the darkest of intents. "Belle..."

She smiles, rising up until she is standing on her toes, lips grazing the underside of his jaw in the barest of touches. "No dinner, no me."

"You drive a hard bargain, dearie," his warm breath ruffles the hair on top of her head and she smiles, drawing away from him, her fingers trailing down his chest until she is out of reach. Belle crosses her arms, resting them under her breasts, smiling in victory when he glances down, gripping his cane until his knuckles are white. "Dinner, then," he concedes after a moment, tipping his head to the side in defeat.

"You are the definition of a drama queen, my dear Rumpelstiltskin." His name is nothing more than a whisper as it passes from her lips, both of them conscious of the fact that they are standing out in the open. He snorts quietly, somewhat amused and very much indignant. Belle smiles at him, her nose wrinkling in all the familiar places, and even after thirty some odd years it still settles low and warm in his gut. He clears his throat, trying to school his features into something worthy of a smart remark, but it all dies on his tongue when she laughs and holds out her hand for him. "Come now, Mr. Gold. It won't do for us to be late when we're standing just outside, would it?"

He takes her hand, weaving their fingers together unconsciously as he steps forward into her space. He's taken this journey every day for weeks, up the same flight of stairs, but never has he felt so nervous. Rumpelstiltskin does not get nervous, but apparently tonight he is all Mr. Gold as Belle leads him up to the door. He stops her before she can go in, pulling her back into his chest, lowering his mouth until he is inches from her ear. "By the way, my dear, you look beautiful tonight."

She blushes as easily as he knows she would, the lightest shade of pink coloring her cheeks. Belle raises her free hand, pushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her face, hiding her smile behind the gesture. "You don't look too bad yourself, I suppose."

Gold rests his forehead against her temple, nudging her lightly until she tilts her head, looking up at him with such ease. She squeezes his hand when he leans down, angling his head only slightly as his eyes flit down toward her lips.

"I thought I heard someone out- oh… hey you two," Emma stands in the open doorway, shifting back as she bites her lip, looking away from them. Gold pauses with his lips just inches away from Belle's, fighting back as sigh as he straightens, offering the Sheriff his best smile.

"Miss Swan."

Belle presses her face against his shoulder, hiding her smile in the fabric of one of his suits until she hears Emma step back into the apartment. "You must move," he whispers the words against the top of her head and she smiles, pulling back and leading him into her home. Mary Margaret already has the table set with the finest of her dishes. The effort she has gone through steals Rumpelstiltskin's breath for a moment. He has not expected this, all of this, to make him feel welcome, to make Belle feel even more at home.

"I hope everything's okay." Mary Margaret is standing behind the counter, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she offers a tentative smile to Mr. Gold. This time his smile is much more genuine as he nods, feeling his muscles relax as the nerves disappear.

"It looks exquisite, Miss Blanchard."

"Mary Margaret, please."

He hesitates, but the pressure of Belle's hand in his eases his reluctance. "Thank you for the invitation … Mary Margaret."

She smiles, clapping her hands together. "Then let's eat."

Emma falls into a chair on the right side of the table, earning another sharp look from Mary Margaret who goes to get the first part of dinner. Belle ushers him into a chair on the left side before she goes to help, bringing back the wine while the former Snow White carries… Gold makes a face, his nose wrinkling in the slightest before he looks away.

He takes back his earlier estimate of the night.

This is not exquisite. This is rabbit food. He stares at the salad that Mary Margaret places in front of him, willing it to disappear from his plate. She is still smiling as she sits across from him, next to Emma, and immediately tries to engage him in conversation. "So, Mr. Gold, how has… business been?"

"The same as always, the shop is a good way to occupy one's time." Gold offers her a smile, resisting the urge to bare his teeth before he turns back to his salad. He pushes it around his plate, poking at it with his fork until he feels a hand slide along his upper thigh.

Emma clears her throat from across the table, looking like she's not really enjoying her salad either. "So everything else is what, pleasure? You enjoy terrorizing people?"

He stills when Belle curls her fingers against the fabric of his pants, digging just so into his skin. Gold clears his throat, still smiling despite how tight he is currently gripping his fork. "Oh yes, Miss Swan. I'm one of those people that… get off on the misery of others, no doubt." The hand on his thigh slides up and he bites the inside of his cheek, stabbing at a piece of lettuce.

Mary Margaret and Emma both look away at the same time, taking a very sudden interest in their wine glasses. Belle leans over, her warm breath ghosting across the shell of his ear while the other women studiously ignore them. "Eat the damn salad and play nice, Rumpelstiltskin," the words she whispers are sharp, hitting just the right places and suddenly his pants feel a little too tight. She squeezes his thigh, a quiet reminder before her hand slips away and she smiles.

"So, Mary Margaret, anything interesting happen at school?" And just like that Belle has fixed the sudden lull in conversation as the school teacher goes on and on about her various students and their work, talking enough for all four people at the table. Gold watches Belle out of the corner of his eye, taking in the slow curve of her lips as she smiles fondly at the two women. He would rather be a thousand different places than right here, because _this is damn rabbit food _and he is sitting at a dinner table with Snow White and her offspring, but he can still feel Belle's hand on his thigh and he really can't think of anywhere else he wants to be.

If he stabs his salad with a little more gusto than needed, no one comments.

The rest of dinner goes by easier, with chicken replacing the salad and a seemingly never ending supply of wine. By the end Gold is sure he's had a little too much to drink, but Belle is laughing almost constantly at his side as she engages in a battle of wits with a very loaded Sheriff.

"Okay you two, I think that's enough," Mary Margaret is smiling even as she interrupts them, putting her wine glass down as she moves to stand. "I'm going to walk to the market to get some ice cream, since Emma decided to eat dessert before dinner-"

"Hey, no one said the pie was for tonight," Emma crosses her arms over her chest in defense, her cheeks a light shade of red that does nothing to help the scrunched up look on her face. Mary Margaret just shakes her head, but she's still smiling and slowly the Sheriff relaxes back into her customary sprawl of limbs. Belle stands up at his left, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

"I'll go with you, if that's alright."

Of course Belle would want to go, and leave him here with Miss Swan. He scowls, he is fully aware of it, and she only smiles, leaning down give his cheek another kiss. "I won't be long, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that, dearie," he whispers the words only loud enough for her ears and she nods, following Mary Margaret out the door. Gold can hear them going down the stairs together, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on the table. As soon as the sound of their footsteps fade into nothing Emma leans forward, her gaze sharp despite the alcohol red of cheeks as she stares at him.

"Can I ask you something, Gold?"

He sighs, stretching out his bad leg slowly beneath the table. Gold returns her steady scrutiny, adopting a look of boredom with ease. "I doubt anything I could say would persuade you differently."

Emma waits a beat, mapping out every line on his face before she speaks. "Why her? Why Isobel?"

Of course, she is trying to be chivalrous; she is the savior after all. It comes off as accusing, as if she has been waiting the entire dinner to ask him this, and Gold doesn't doubt that she has. "It's not as simple as all of that, Miss Swan-"

"Oh, then tell me, Gold. Why is a girl like her, all the things you are decidedly not, interested in you?"

Even the wine is unable to keep the derision from twisting his lips, his voice low. "I've asked myself that a hundred times or more Miss Swan and I still don't have an answer. I'll be sure, however, to let you know when I do."

Across the table Emma sighs, leaning back in her chair once more as her arms cross, resting heavily on her chest. She got out one of the questions she wanted to ask, one of about fifty, and Gold can almost see her thinking process written clearly on her face. Gold decides to strike while the iron is relatively hot and decently smashed.

"Go ahead and ask, Sheriff. I know you want to."

"Fine, do you know who locked her up?" Emma has searched, every single file, everything she found concerning Isobel but it's not enough. The repetition of Moe French's name means nothing. A single man cannot be the only driving force behind locking someone away, not the way she was found. Gold looks at her, really looks at her and his smile is sharp, glinting from the gold in his teeth.

"Oh, you know just as well as I do Miss Swan that she would never put her name to it."

Her arms tremble against her chest, but she does not look away. "Which means we can't prove it was her, at least not through legal means." Gold tips his head in acknowledgement, his fingers having stilled against the table top without his notice some time ago. Emma closes her eyes, frustration appearing in the tense set of her features before she lets out a sigh. "One more question. What would make Regina lock up someone like Isobel?"

He feels it in his chest, the tightly coiled feeling of the Dark One that is always there, magic or no. It's a phantom sensation that leaves his features bitter as he stares at the Savior over discarded dishes. "There are plenty of reasons, Miss Swan."

She narrows her eyes as she stares. "Name one."

Rumpelstiltskin grins as the feeling in his chest explodes, his hand pressing flat against the wood of the table. "You're looking at it, or rather, him."

The door behind Emma opens and he schools his features, smiling over the Sheriff as Belle enters the apartment first with her arms loaded down. Mary Margaret files in close behind, shutting the door with her free hand. Emma relaxes and watches them with a carefully pulled smirk. "Took you two long enough, jeez."

"Oh hush, you're fine," Belle looks over her shoulder and smiles before she starts digging through the bags. She has a pint of ice cream in her hand when she turns, searching for a spoon that Mary Margaret hands her. Gold cocks an eyebrow as he reads the name, a genuine smile sliding into place as his blonde makes her way back to the table with the school teacher in tow.

Belle sits beside him, offering the pint and keeping the spoon. "I got your favorite."

"How very gracious of you, dearie," he takes the offered Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough pint and opens it, watching as Belle digs the spoon in before taking a bite for herself, coy smile and all. The next spoonful she holds out for him and he takes it, suppressing a quiet groan at the taste.

Emma wrinkles her nose, looking caught between amusement and annoyance and perhaps a small amount of disgust. "Get a room you two, or you know, separate spoons."

Belle blushes and ducks her head, averting her eyes from everything even as he laughs.

Exquisite dinner, indeed.


	8. staring at it

So here is another update, whoo. This chapter is not at all what I planned for it to be, not really. I read over it myself but there are probably a hundred mistakes I didn't catch knowing me, so sorry for all of them and I hope that you enjoy this.

* * *

_staring at it_

Regina stops just outside of Granny's diner, her expression twisting into glee as she watches the happy couple just ahead. Gold is leading his broken plaything out of one of the novelty shops with a chuckle and his hand on her back. She looks happy enough with a smile on her face that almost takes away from the scar running along her jaw, but not quite. The white line is easy to see in the sunlight and Regina feels the pleasure of it ripple down her spine because she left that particular blow by her own hand. The pawnbroker raises his head and she smiles wide with her cherry red lips.

She is greeted with a scowl as his fingers flex against Belle's back, digging into the fabric of her blue button up shirt. Even from here Regina can see the effect it has on the former princess. Belle isn't smiling when she looks over at the Mayor with her heart in her throat, but she does not flinch away. She is brave with the beast at her side and Gold slides his hand up and slips his arm around her shoulder. They make quite the couple, a broken girl and a monster and Regina waves before she slides into the diner.

The curse is designed to severe happy endings and if it somehow has a weak spot for Rumpelstiltskin then she'll be sure to fix it by hand.

Belle exhales and looks away from the diner. Gold pulls her into his side but doesn't move any further. "Are you alright?" he whispers the words against her temple and she nods. With him she can play the brave lioness, she must, but when she is on her own the Queen still manages to paralyze her. The nightmares are less frequent than before, evened out by all the new memories she is creating, but the scars won't fade so easily.

Something must show in her face because he presses a kiss to the top of her head before his arm drops to her waist. "How about we take that trip to see Dr. Hopper, hm? I'm sure he'll have some books he'd be more than happy to let you borrow."

The idea does sound delightful, really. She's already breezed through everything Mary Margaret has on her shelves and in her first week here Henry showed her his fairy tale book. She still feels like it's a shame the library isn't open, but when she asked Rum about it he had deftly evaded answering the question. Belle isn't keen on being out and about, after years of solitude it proves to be somewhat overwhelming with so many faces new and old, but the promise of new books...

"I'd like that," she replies and he smiles into her hair. Gold had hoped she would take to the idea and Belle does not disappoint. It doesn't matter that he has an ulterior motive in taking her to the cricket, because she doesn't have to know that right now. They walk in silence with Belle tucked into his side and it feels good. He is still fascinated by her, the depth that he somehow missed when she was at his side before. Belle has always been able to surprise him but now he can see her true strength, the real bravery that surpasses just standing up to a monster.

Rumpelstiltskin just hates that his clarity came at such a high price. Belle slips her own arm around his waist and squeezes lightly, "You're thinking too much."

"Distracting you, dearie?"

Belle shakes her head. "No, but you know where we're going and I don't."

He looks up and laughs quietly, realizing they have reached the four way crossing. Gold nudges Belle toward the left and she goes, glancing up at his face. The quiet doesn't have time to settle. They're barely halfway down the block before he's tugging on her and tilting his head toward a very quaint building. "This is it."

It doesn't look like much but Belle can see the small sign that reads 'Doctor Archibald Hopper, Psychiatrist' on the front door. "Rum?"

"Hm?" He is staring over her head at the door, seeing her reflection in the glass before he brings his eyes down to look at the top of her head. "Is something wrong?"

"What's a psychiatrist?" The word comes out easily; she knows how the roll the letters off her tongue even though she shouldn't, not really. Gold traces his fingers along her side and she relaxes, belatedly realizing that she had tensed up in her sudden nervousness.

"A therapist or counselor, there's… there is no real equivalent in our world to compare him too, but he is the person some people bare all of their problems and feelings to."

She wrinkles her nose at the idea, drawing back from the door unconsciously. Belle isn't able to envision giving herself, every emotion and barrier and heartache, over to a person that she doesn't know. He leans down and brushes his lips against the back of her head, hoping to ease her sudden discomfort. "Easy, dearie, we're just here to borrow books, nothing more."

It turns out Archie isn't nearly as intimidating as Belle first assumed, and talking to him comes so very easily. He stutters at first at seeing Rum behind her but then he eases into bright smiles and light conversation and somewhere in the middle she starts to smile too. Gold watches from the door as his Belle shines brilliantly for the cricket, seeming so much her old self that it steals his breath for a moment.

"You might like this," Archie holds out the book of his choice with a smile and Belle takes it. Her fingers ghost across the cover as she turns it in her hands. The worn leather cover feels like home against her skin and she smiles back while resisting the urge to bow.

"Thank you very much. I've already finished everything Mary Margaret has," she is beaming back at him and clutching the book to her chest. Rum vaguely remembers stumbling upon her once in the Dark Castle with a book tucked tight in her arms as she tried to sneak back to her room. Underneath all the scars and pain she is still that bookish, brave girl.

Archie flushes just a bit for no particular reason and he readjusts his glasses in an attempt to distract. "Well, if you ever need any books feel free to ask, it's no problem. You also might have some luck with Miss Lucas. She has a decent collection herself."

Belle nods, committing the name to memory, knowing that it sounds vaguely familiar. Behind her Rum clears his throat and she steps back with a slight tilt of her head and a smile. "Thank you again for the book, Dr. Hopper."

He's still blushing brilliantly, but he is so very kind and he nods. "You're welcome, Miss French."

She does her best not to flinch at the surname, the smile on her face slipping. "Isobel, please."

Archie looks at her over the top of his glasses, but that gentle look on his face doesn't fade. "Isobel, then. You can call me Archie."

Belle opens her mouth to respond but a warm hand grips her elbow and she looks up into the brown eyes of Gold. He only looks at her a moment before he tilts his head and smiles at Archie, something that's not entirely forced. "Thank you, Dr. Hopper, but we must be on our way."

"Ah, of course," he looks away, barely managing not to trip over his words as Gold all but drags Belle out of the man's office by her arm. She stops him just outside the door in the hall, narrowing her eyes.

"What was _that_ all about?" Her arms tighten around the book and he looks down, taking in the angered look on her face.

Suddenly he looks away, feeling like a child caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. Belle shouldn't be looking at him that way but she is with the gentle wrinkles in her forehead and her blue eyes aflame. Gold clears his throat and tries to face her, because he should not feel guilty, at all. "It's high pass tea time, dearie-"

Her brow crinkles further, deepening in the place right between her eyes and Gold wants to smile, but she pokes his chest hard enough it hurts. "Now look here we are not going through this jealousy phase, alright? It is ridiculous and childish and it does not become you, at all. Archie is nice, and it felt _good_ to smile and not feel like I was going to-"

Gold slants his lips over hers, wrapping his hand around her finger and sliding into the empty places where he fits. She slowly gives in and he smiles before pulling away. "I am not jealous, dearie, so that we're both clear on that point." He leans down and kisses her again, a quick peck before he draws back. "It actually _is_ pass tea time and I am hungry, and you promised me lunch." He goes for another kiss and she meets him halfway, their hands pressing against his stomach as she tilts her head back. Gold scrapes his teeth against her bottom lip as he slides away, the look on his face serious as Belle looks up at him.

"It felt good watching you smile, dear. Your smile is perhaps the most precious gift you can give and I have not forgotten that. I never will," his voice is warm and full of admiration. It washes over her and Belle squeezes his hand as she drops her head, unable to hold his gaze. Gold can see the edges of her mouth twitch just a little, enough to make him smile.

"I think I promised you lunch."

* * *

Gold stretches his legs out as he leans back into the couch, settling his cane at his side. "That was a very good lunch, dear." Belle smiles at the back of his head before she rounds the couch arm with two cups of tea to go with the pie sitting on the table in front of them. The apartment is otherwise empty, Mary Margaret teaching and Emma at work, and while it feels odd to have him there it also feels right. She sits beside him on the couch and hands over one of the tea cups, leaning into his warmth. He raises his arm and drapes it around her shoulders, his free hand taking the tea as he turns his head until he can press a kiss to the top of her head.

Belle smiles against her cup and takes a slow drink, savoring the quiet moment just as much as the tea. He does the same beside her with his fingers brushing along her arm in different designs until Gold feels the always present tension in her body ease. Her cup is cradled haphazardly in both hands when he looks at her, her dropping forward without her consent. He carefully slides his feet of the table, stretching his bum leg out as he leans to put his tea cup down. Belle's is next to follow and he plucks it from her fingers without contest to set it beside his own.

She immediately crowds against his side and he smiles, leaning close to whisper in her ear, "Bring your feet up, dearie, so you can stretch out." Belle hides her face against his collar but she does as told and brings her legs up and stretches them out along the couch as he helps her get comfortable against him. Gold slides his own legs under the table and leans into the corner of the couch, giving Belle more room to spread out her long limbs.

Her hands immediately fist themselves in the fabric of his button down shirt as if to make him stay and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Relax, Belle. I'm going nowhere." She mumbles something too indistinct for him to hear but Gold is at least half certain it is a threat of some kind. Her fingers ease in the creases of his shirt but she doesn't let go. He almost thinks of asking her then, to move in with him, to share his home and life entirely.

The words die on his tongue before he ever really gives them life and he swallows back the urge. It's still too early and everything between them is too new for such a commitment. Gold continues to let his fingers dance up and down her arm as his cheek comes to rest on her soft hair. The blonde still catches him by surprise sometimes, as it does right now, but it also suits her and he twines a small piece around his finger before letting it drop back into place.

His eyes flutter shut and for once Gold lets himself go in the moment as his sense of self fades to only the sound of Belle's soft breathing and the scent of lavender.

Mary Margaret hums as she unlocks the door to her apartment and steps inside, her eyes immediately sweeping the area from habit. She pauses halfway in the door, her eyes landing on the couch and its inhabitants. It's hard to step over the places in the floor that creak but she manages well enough, stopping just at the back of the couch. Isobel is curled up and asleep, her head resting on Mr. Gold's shoulder. The man himself is asleep as well with his cheek on top of her head and one arm curled around her body. Isobel looks relaxed as she sleeps which is something Mary Margaret has never seen before and Mr. Gold for all of his bite seems relatively peaceful.

The part that makes her smile, however, is their hands that rest in the small space between them, fingers barely touching. Emma would wake them without a thought but she steps back as quiet as she can, retreating to the front door. Ruby is always going on about how they don't spend enough time together and now seems perfectly acceptable.

She closes the door quietly with a smile and Rumpelstiltskin shifts to pull Belle closer, burying his face in her hair with a quiet sigh.


End file.
